“Why,” the lady explained, “I told you all about that on your last visit. Colonel Domlio was very friendly, exceedingly friendly, I might say. But we had no relations”—she stressed the word—“in the sense which your question seems to indicate.”
“How did your friendship begin?”
“Through my husband. He and Colonel Domlio were old friends and it was natural that we should see something of him. He visited at our house and we at his.”
“That was when you first went to Ashburton, was it not?”
“Not only then. It was so all the time I lived there.”
“But I don’t mean that. I understand that about four months before the tragedy your friendship became much more intense, if I may use the word?”
“Intense is certainly not the word, but it is true that we met more frequently after the time you mention. I thought I had explained that. It was then that my husband became dissatisfied about my perfectly harmless friendship with Mr. Pyke. As I told you, Mr. Pyke and I decided to see less of each other. I was therefore thrown more on my own resources and frankly I was bored. I filled a little more of the time with Colonel Domlio than formerly. That is all.”
“Who began this increased intimacy?”
“Our intimacy was not increased. We saw more of each other—a very different thing. I began it; in this way. In London I heard some lectures on insect life. I was interested in the subject and I asked Colonel Domlio to let me see his collection. We began to talk about it, and it ended in my going out with him occasionally to look for specimens on the moor and also in my helping him to arrange them afterwards. That was the beginning and end of what you are pleased to call our ‘intimacy.’ ”
The look of fright had left Mrs. Berlyn’s eyes and she was speaking now with more of her usual assurance.